Published: 29 May 2023

Chapter 26

Eric’s train was scheduled to depart at twelve-thirty and it had now gone five in the afternoon without any sight of Jim’s return from the station. It was May who first showed signs of concern and insisted Alf telephone the Mareeba police, who promised to keep an eye out for the farm’s new truck. Alf then contacted his mate Ken Francis, who left his shift at the logging mill and drove over to the farm keeping an eye out for the truck on his way.

Alf met Ken at the gate.

“No sight of Jim or the truck along the main road from town,” Ken says.

“I’m beginning to worry Ken, as Jim hasn’t been in his right mind of late.”

“Is he likely to harm himself?”

“I don’t know. I hardly know him anymore.”

“Hop in and we’ll try some of the side tracks from town, he may have become disorientated and taken a wrong turn.”

“The police put out a bulletin over the wireless for people to keep an eye out for the truck,” Alf says as they drive away.

“Yes I heard it on the work’s wireless before I left town. Possibly he has broken down as the truck in new to him,” Ken suggests in an attempt to dampen Alf’s concern.

During the night’s meal little was said around the table and eyes often lifted through the open dining room door, towards the silent telephone in the hall.

“Alf you should give the police another call,” May suggests.

“They will telephone if they have news.”

“We should be out looking for Jim,” May anxiously says.

“In the dark woman and on foot, besides Ken and I drove every side road between town and here.”

“We should do something,” May sighs but receives nothing more to dissuade her fear.

By nine thirty Gavin was in his room reading, while Owen waited with Alf and May in the living room, the wireless turned down but loud enough to break the tension in the room. May releases a short nervous sigh, “I’ll go and finish the dishes.”

“Leave them until the morning mother,” Alf growls out his anxiety.

“I’ll do them mum,” Owen is quickly to his feet and as he advances towards the kitchen there are car lights at the farm gate.

“He’s home at last,” May says as she attempts to obtain a better vision through the front window.

Alf is close behind.

“They aren’t truck lights May, it is a car,” Alf cautiously reveals.

Moments later the vehicle is outside and two policemen are at the door.

“I’ll go May,” Alf says and meets with the policemen.

“Alf,” the first officer greets in a low voice and offers his hand.

“Brian,” Alf answers as Brian Craddick introduces the second officer, followed by a lengthy conversation in lowered tones.

Alf closes the door behind.

“Owen it can’t be,” May says and tightly grips Owen’s arm, her fingernails dig into flesh but he says nothing. She is about to advance to the door.

“No mum, let dad handle it.”

Minutes pass before Alf returns inside, his face ashen.

“What is it Alf, has Jim had an accident, is he hurt?”

“Alf goes to the drinks cabinet and pours two large drinks and passes one to May. His hand is shaking badly.

“Alf what has happened,”

“Jim is dead.”

“How?”

“They found the truck abandoned on the Dimbulah road about ten miles out of town, with the driver’s door open and after a search about they found Jim. He had shot himself with the damn revolver he brought back as a souvenir.”

May burst into tears; “I told you to get rid of the bloody thing.”

“He was a grown man May and if not from the gun he would eventually found another way. Jim could never have lived through the peace.”

All this time Owen kept his calm while feeling distant and as he couldn’t console he thought it best to take a walk.

Hearing the most of it through his open door Gavin comes from his room but lacks experience in such matters to join in with the family’s grief. He feels shocked but little more.

He takes a seat.

His head lowers away from his mother’s tears; his father’s self-reproaching anger, while his attention is on Owen for guidance towards how he should react.

It becomes Owen’s turn to accept blame, as it was the one time he didn’t check if the pistol was in its drawer, even so what could be done if he found it missing. Now all he can think is his need for his own solitude.

As Owen departed the house, he recollected Jim words while cleaning the gun and his reference to the single shell – that one had my name on it.

Had such a thought carried through to fruition, had fate designed Jim’s demise from the instant the Japanese officer was about to fire his weapon.

What if Jim hadn’t souvenir the gun?

What if – the world ran on what-if’s and Owen’s what-if was but another to that sad collection of retrospections.

“Where are you going?” Gavin asks.

“For a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No Gavin you stay here.”

Owen remained beside the dam until the first light of the first day without Jim. Now his father’s hopes would rest on his shoulders and that was one burden he was not prepared to accept. He had aspirations and they were not towards farming. As for Jim, Owen felt remorse but most of his grief had been spent when Chip departed from his company. Besides Owen always viewed his older brother as an addition and not family as no matter how he tried, the gap and years existing between the two was wide and could not be breached.

A deep breath;

A sigh and with the sun of a new day now above the tall eastern mountains glowing in the treetops and brighter than his mood, Owen returns to the house with Gavin meeting him on his way.

“Mum is looking for you,” Gavin softly says, his voice shallow and distant.

“What is the mood like?”

“What do you expect, mum keep’s bursting into tears and dad has gone to the shed and is tinkering with the tractor. What now?”

“We almost lost Jim in the war,” Owen says.

“Is that an excuse or a reason Owen?”

“It is neither. It is but a fact and I can’t offer more.”

“I don’t know what to say to them.”

“Then say nothing as words can’t fit anything you feel, being there and supportive is enough.”

Jim’s funeral was a small affair with mostly family and his team mates at the grave side, then after there was a gathering arranged by the local rugby club at the Anglican Church hall. The Parker family had arrived by taxi and Ken Francis drove them home, with Winnie arriving at the farm later in the afternoon with baby Gary.

“What now?” Owen asked as they all sat about the dining table attempting to eat a light evening meal.

“We get on with it,” Alf says and May again bursts into tears.

She quickly leaves the room.

Winnie follows May to comfort.

“What about you Owen?” Alf’s tone lowers to serious.

“In what way dad?”

“Now that Jim has gone, the farm will need you more than ever.”

Gavin hears and becomes intensive.

“No dad it is Gavin’s turn to farm, as I have other plans.”

An argument is forming in Alf but with Jim barely in the ground it wasn’t time to divide the family further.

May returns, her eyes redden, “would anyone like a cup of tea?”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Owen offers to break the impasse that was developing between father and son.

“More like a stiff drink,” Alf says while collecting the whisky bottle and a tumbler from the drinks cabinet, before retiring to his own company on the verandah.

“Owen you go and sit with your father,” May suggests.

“No mum he needs his solitude,” Winnie opposes.

Two moths had passed, with Jim remaining solid in the thoughts of his family. Alf became a recluse, finding his only comfort in the scotch bottle, while drawing distant from his wife and remaining sons to such an extent he couldn’t look either of the boys in the eyes. During this time Owen was becoming further isolated from his father and the farm.

With Alf’s continuing indifference, Gavin to the best of his ability ran the day to day business of the farm but had no idea on how to grow tobacco and even with a fair grasp of mathematics, pricing and running a ledger was beyond him. As for building the infrastructure necessary to grow and cure the tobacco leaf, without Alf’s input there was no way Gavin could bring the crop to fruition.

Owen was seldom home and continued to display disinterest in the farm and farming, finding work at the Hanushs cordial factory in town as a delivery driver. Soon after taking employment being at home became unbearable, so Owen accepted lodgings in town with his once school friend Ian Douglas. In doing so he was careful to keep his sexuality private but almost immediately realizing he had made a bad decision.

Douglas was a chameleon. In public he was as blokey as the next red-neck country boy but in private he took on the genera of an oversexed school girl, thinking nothing of walking naked from the bathroom to his bedroom with his towel draped over his shoulder. This attitude bothered Owen but he accepted his friend’s eccentricity as long as it remained in private. Douglas was also the master of innuendo and double meanings which he often expressed in public, giving Owen one more reason towards his need to find alternate lodgings.

During weekends Owen would return home, mostly for May to do his washing and to have at least one decent home cooked meal. While living with Douglas they took turns with the cooking and neither, as the saying is expressed, could successfully boil water, or to give the adage a twist both could burn water.

It was on one such home visit Owen was surprised by a letter sent through the American Forces postal service.

“It arrived last Monday, I would think it is from Chip,” May suggests and offers up the envelope.

“I would say so, it appears to be in his hand,” Owen answers while masking his excitement.

“It was posted some months back around when they dropped the bomb, I wonder where it has been for all this time,” May had already scrutinized the envelope for information but found it lacking.

“I couldn’t say.”

“There isn’t any senders address,” May says.

Owen opens the envelope and peers into its beige space.

“Well?”

“The envelope is empty,” Owen’s mood sinks to a level as low as when he had heard of Jim’s demise.

“Empty?”

“Yes Megan-may, empty.”

“The censor must have forgotten to place it back in the envelope,” May offers as a reason.

“Musta’,”

A deep breath and Owen pockets the empty envelope.

“I hope it wasn’t bad news,” May offers as during Chip’s brief association she had grown to like the airman, even if not totally forgiving for taking Owen into a war zone.

“Possibly that will become one of the many secrets of the war. Oh well, I can’t do anything about it.” Owen shrugs it away but knows, like some rat gnawing on the pantry door; it would eat away at him for eternity.

“Possibly you could write to his home in America?”

“I could but I don’t know his parent’s address, it never became necessary to ask.”

“You know the name of the town? So you could write care of the post office, surely someone there will know him.”

“It was a large town and their property well away. Mum it doesn’t matter – really I’m not all that fussed.”

“What do you do with your clothes to get them in such a state?” May asks as she empties his washing bag onto the kitchen table, while understanding Owen wished to go no further on the matter that was Chip Miller.

“It is dirty work;” Owen offers in pretext.

“What of this on your shirt, it looks like grease.”

“It is from when the delivery truck broke down and I had to fix it.”

“Doesn’t Hanushs have a mechanic?”

“It was a simple job and only took me a minute; otherwise I would have been stuck out on the Dimbulah road for most of the afternoon.”

“And your underwear, they all have holes and are ready for the bin.”

“Megan-may! A man’s underwear should never be discussed in public and never by his mother.

Gavin gives a snigger as he washes out his coffee cup.

“Don’t you laugh young man, yours aren’t much better.” May gives Gavin a ticking.

“I’ve work to do; I’ll leave you two to discuss the state of underwear. Owen I’d like a word with you later.” Gavin says as he departs for his work.

After the ticking for dirty clothes and holed underwear Owen leaves May to his washing and finds Gavin at the dam cursing the water pump.

“What’s the matter with it?” Owen asks.

“The o-rings are shot and more water runs down the ditch than goes on the garden.”

“Have you asked dad to have a look at it?”

“I have but he simply said he’d get someone out from town.”

“I’ll get new ones during the week,” Owen offers.

“Whose car is it?”

“It belongs to Ian Douglas and he lets me use it on the weekend, he got it just after I took you for the school sports in Atherton.”

“It’s a shit-box.”

“Gets me where I’m going but I must admit it uses more oil than it does petrol.”

“What is it like living with Douglas?”

“I’ll say different.”

“Yes I can believe that.”

“You said you wanted a word?”

Gavin turns of the pump and sits on the dam wall, his bare legs submerged in the shallow water. “Water’s down,” he says.

“Is it water level you wish to discuss?”

“No it is dad.”

“What’s he been up to?”

“That is it – nothing. He is leaving everything to me and on my own I can’t manage.”

“I can’t come home Gavin,” Owen enforces.

“You know something Owen? I no longer want the farm. I’m not cut out for the responsibility of it all.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Work for someone like you and do their bidding, get paid on Friday afternoon and leave the worrying to others.”

“Have you told dad how you feel?”

“I don’t dare, besides he’s mostly drunk or sleeping it off these days.”

“How is mum coping?”

“As best she can but I think if something doesn’t happen soon she will have a nervous breakdown.”

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

“It won’t matter soon; I heard dad on the telephone to Risdon’s Estate Agency, he is selling the farm.”

“Oh.”

“Granddad will be rolling in his grave,” Gavin says.

“Has dad said what he will do if he sells up?”

“Not a word, I think you should speak with him.”

“I could but I don’t think it will do much good, we don’t see eye-to-eye since I moved into town. What about you Gavin how are you holding up?”

“I’m not really but I’m strong not like Jim.”

“We didn’t go through what Jim did so don’t blame him.”

“I don’t. Jim and I never really got on, he always favoured you,” Gavin admitted.

“Umm, it didn’t seem that way. I did approach him while he was drunk about what went on between him and Uncle Ted.”

“What did he say?”

“He said Ted touched him.”

“Touched, like how?”

“That is all he would admit.”

“You were there at the time, what did you see?”

“Shit Gavin, I was but a kid, all I can remember was the two of them joking, I think I saw Ted reach towards Jim, then Dad came in and all hell broke loose.”

“Is that all?”

“Who knows but one of these days I am going to confront Ted on the matter.”

“I can guess what touch means,” Gavin says.

“I believe you can.”

“Walk with me I’m going to give Ruby some hay.”

The two walked towards Ruby’s paddock and on seeing their approach she whinnied and trotted to the fence but before the boys could come near, she was frightened away by one of the neighbour’s kids.

“Stanley Joliffe, you shouldn’t shout at Ruby like that as she doesn’t know you,” Gavin warns.

“Sorry Gavin.”

“Have you been lighting any more fires?” Owen asks.

“No dad gave me and Arthur a right thrashing.”

“Tis’ good you aren’t lighting fires but bad about the thrashing.” Owen sympathized.

“It didn’t hurt much I didn’t even cry. Can I ride Ruby?”

“I don’t think so Stanley she is a little skittish around strangers.”

“Oh,” Stanley says, about turns and answers his mother’s call from the clothesline.

“It must be a full time job,” Gavin laughs.

“What would be?”

“Mar’ Joliffe and her washing with all those kids.”

“They aren’t a bad bunch,” Owen acknowledges and gives Joan a wave as she guides her boys inside.

The woman returns the gesture.

“Gavin laughs; “the eldest girl came over last Tuesday with a big bunch of flowers for mum.”

“That was nice of her,”

“They were wilted but mum sent her back with a freshly baked batch of scones,”

“There are so many Joliffe kids they would have to have a quarter of a scone each,” Owen surmises.

Sunday evening’s meal had been over for some time. Gavin was helping May with the dishes and Owen found Alf having a quiet smoke in Jim’s favourite chair under the spread of the oleander bush. By Alf’s manner he appeared to have ridden through the storm encountered after Jim’s demise and had placed aside the scotch bottle. If anything Alf appeared resolute towards his future.

“How do you like driving for Hanushs?”

“I like the driving but living with Ian Douglas is proving to be a mistake.”

“You could always come home.”

“Without a car it would be difficult getting into work each day as sometime I have a six o’clock start.”

“Jim loved sitting here,” Alf says as he extinguished his cigarette. “I should give them up.”

“I thought you had already done so.”

“May hates me smoking but during the first big one we all smoked to calm our nerves.”

“Did it work?”

“It’s hard to say, most of the time we were drunk with fear. I remember one occasion while pinned down by a Jerry sniper, Bluey Jones become so frustrated he jumped up and shouted, here I am, get me – come on you square head get me.”

Owen remained quiet waiting for Alf to continue but Alf’s thoughts were lost in Flanders.

“Then what happened?” Owen eventually asks.

“They got him.”

“What are you going to do about growing tobacco?” Owen asks using his question as a leaver to further information on his father’s intentions.

“I’m selling the farm Owen,”

“Yes I saw the notice in Risdon’s window; I thought you were going to try tobacco?”

“It’s a tricky crop and you need a curing barn and that costs money to set up.”

“Could you afford to do so?”

“It isn’t the cost Owen; I no longer have the energy to start over with a new crop.”

“What does mum think of selling the farm?”

“She agrees and suggested we could move down the coast closer to your Gran and my younger brother William.”

“When is this going to happen?”

“Soon I should think; Mal Risdon has already had a number interested and offering good money.”

“What about Gavin, I thought he was hell-bent on taking over the farm?”

“Gavin is a good worker and honest but lacks any organizational skills, he would run it into the ground in a month. I had hopes that after Jim’s,” Alf paused and took on a different approach, “well I hoped you would follow but obvious you aren’t interested.

“No dad, I was never cut out to be a farmer.”

“What was in the letter from Chip?”

“The envelope was empty; they must have forgotten to replace it after censoring.”

Alf gives a chuckle.

“What dad?”

“You taking off to New Guinea in the middle of a war zone, I’ll say one thing for you lad you’ve got balls.”

“It wasn’t all that dangerous, nothing like what Jim had to occur.”

“Jim!” Alf growled; “and that bloody gun. I should have listened to your mother.”

“I don’t think anyone could have prevented the outcome, if it wasn’t the gun it would have been some other way. On one occasion, when he was responsive to conversation, he did say that the noise in his head was getting louder.”

Alf takes a deep breath and slowly releases it as his eyes wander away from Owen into the oleander and as the last of the day’s sunlight filter through the leaves the small frogs began their serenading.

“It is the end of an era,” Owen says.

“I was remembering what your grandfather said to me the day he passed on.”

“What did he say?”

“The farm is now yours son, look after it and it will look after you.”

“Why didn’t he leave it to Bert or Ted, as they were both older than you?”

Alf disregards Ted, “Bert had other interests,” he says.

“I never really knew Granddad Parker,” Owen admitted.

“He was a taskmaster but had a good heart. He always favoured you Owen.”

“As I said I was only four when he died.”

“We found him slumped on the tractor seat with the motor still running when your Gran went to call him for dinner,” Alf recollects.

“He died on the tractor?”

“No we brought him inside but he passed on before the doctor could come out from town.”

“At least he died doing what he loved,”

“Yes Owen he loved farming and it was his father, my grandfather, your great grandfather who cut the farm from the scrub, with nothing but an axe and a shovel.”

“And from what I heard he took it from the blacks at the barrel of a shotgun,” Owen says.

“Neither you or myself can take the blame for that son.”

“I guess not.”

“Good land this.” Alf says for no obvious reason other than he may be having a second thought towards selling.

“But no good for growing lettuces,” Owen laughs.

“True, although you must admit we gave it a fair go and made a profit.”

“Yea and I had a fight on my hands every time I made a delivery.”

“Alf,” May calls from the verandah door.

“Yes dear?”

“Would you or Owen like a beer before I finish up in the kitchen?”

“I’m right,” Alf says.

“None for me mum thank you, I’ll be going in a few minutes. I have to get the car back for Ian.”

May gives a gentle smile as it was rare for Owen to address her as mum.

Both sat quietly for a time, Alf in memory of days past, Owen towards an unknown future but one filled with hope.

“Tobacco,” Alf says.

“I recollect you saying that some time previously and then you were favouring growing it as a future crop.”

“It is funny how life can make a complete turnabout in less than a year. I guess the war ending had influence. It has changed the country and the world.”

“I thought it would never end,” Owen admits.

“It took a bomb and now I hear the Russians have stolen how to make it and mark my words son, there will be more problems than we can handle in the future.”

“Let’s enjoy the peace for a while first eh dad.”

Alf appears to fade from the conversation. He is thinking of better days when Jim was a lad and Winnie needed his guidance. A time when Owen was innocent and Gavin not yet exposed to the world and its problems. Alf was happier then and farming was all he wished for and he could work from sunup to sundown, sometimes beyond without a break. Now but an hour’s toil and he was knackered.

Eventually Owen takes a deep breath and stands. “Well,” he says.

Alf doesn’t respond.

“I’ll be off then dad.”

“Righto’ lad, I’ll see you next weekend.”

“You will.”

“You better go in and say goodbye to your mother.”

“About the water pump,” Owen says.

“Yes, Gavin said he is having problems with it.”

“Why not buy a new pump?”

“It would hardly be worth doing so, with the farm up for sale.”

“I’ll bring some 0-rings with me next week end.”

“Right you are.”

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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